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He took advantage of her mournful abstraction to slip back to his work. So absorbed was she that she did not observe how he was “cheating” her, though all his other attempts to do it had been promptly detected and stopped. From time to time he looked at her and puzzled over the cause of her deep gloom. Finally he decided to interrupt. A mischievous look came into his eyes. He said: “You thought of transferring yourself from that other rich man?”

She was overwhelmed with embarrassment. Then she met his laughing eyes with a brave attempt at mockery. “Well—I’d rather marry a rich man I liked than one I didn’t.”

“Naturally. But forget about me, please. I’m not a candidate, remember.” He was glad of this chance to remind her of his views as to marriage.

“Never fear,” said she, forcing a laugh and a look of coquettish scorn. “We’re equally safe from each other.”

On the eighth morning it began to drizzle at dawn, and by the time artist and model should have been at work a heavy, cold rain was falling. However, Chang in his waterproofs walked down to the lake shore. He had to take a walk—he always took a walk—no matter what the weather; why not in that direction? As he drew near the cascade he was amazed to see the canoe beached in the usual place. And there, huddled under a tree, as doleful as the shivering birds, stood Rix. He hesitated, started quietly back the way he had come. “No,” said he to himself, “she might catch sight of me. Then she’d be offended—and what would become of my picture?” So he turned about—in obedience to these counsels of calm and unprejudiced good sense.